Skyrim: The Owl and the Pussy Cat
by Lazy Spark
Summary: The Dragon Crisis has ended and the Dragonborn has risen from fighting his war with the Dragons to a point of nobility and power. But, with him outside of Skyrim who will face the Vampire Menace? Rated M for Language, Violence and possibly some mature themes. (note that this is in the early stages and may not be touched for a good while)


Lydia was troubled.

She sat alone in her Lord's study, now hers temporary as it was. The room was dark, what with the lateness of the hour. All that was left to illuminate the room was a single solitary candle, placed on the desk casting just enough light for the tired Steward to make head or tail of the scrawlings printed on the various reports and maps splayed across the table top.

'I didn't sign up for this', she thought ruefully, jotting down yet another plot of figures on to forms whose subjects her tired mind didn't fully recollect.

No, she didn't sign up for this. Not that she ever signed up in the first place.

When Jarl Balgruuf told her of the position he was planning to give her it was not an offer you could refuse. Still it didn't mean she wasn't somewhat pleased. Yes, being in the Elite Guard of Whiterun Hold, whose sworn duty was to protect the Royal Household and to only be summoned for the most urgent of tasks, was a rather large boost to her pride. But, the chance to be the companion of a Dragonborn Warrior, she would become something of legend.

And, she had been. Tales of her Thane and her, and their companion's feats were still being told in tavern and inn, Hardened warriors to laughing children, old maids and swooning maidens.

But again, they were just warriors back then. True, they were younger, less experienced and by far poorer than they were now, but they were warriors. Now her once 'make it up as we go'-Thane was a political, as well as militant animal, as much as he hated it. And, with him, he dragged her and the other Housecarls with him.

"If I must suffer political-hell with the so called leaders of our world, you're all coming to suffer with me." She could still remember his half-wicked laugh and their pale faces. She still smiled at the memory.

But now, now she was 'Lady Lydia Iron-Arm, Steward of Lord Cayran Vectus the Warden of the North'.

Lady, heh. She had never considered herself a lady. Not that she was in anyway confused as to her gender, no she had just never thought that she would become one of the nobles she once protected, and mocked.

Still she was what she was, and what she was, was the temporary replacement for the Lord Warden of Skyrim. So, she would organize his men, the ones placed in plain sight and those hidden in shadow. She would organize his trade routes both of land and sea. And, she would monitor any and all developments of the land.

With her liege's prolonged absence surveying the political and social situations in the bordering provinces, she could finally see the great weight his work must be to his mind. Of course, it had been partly his own fault, despite what the majority of the Skyrim, excluding what's left of the Stormcloaks, would have you believe, her Lord wasn't without faults. One of the biggest agreed upon by most of his underlings was that he was micromanaging.

She could see how a life of taking on every task and every quest yourself and seeing it through to the end could make it hard to simply take comfort in the fact that 'someone else' was taking care of it. She could see he felt sadness and guilt when just reading reports of the achievements of those beneath him. He wasn't used to expecting others to do it for him. It wasn't he didn't trust them, far from it he would trust them with his life, his wealth, his land, his very name and reputation. But, he felt he now betrayed those of the land he once walked through dark forest and grey marsh, through black cave and dungeon to protect.

He felt he couldn't be the Dragonborn of recent legend if he didn't at least take some of the task on himself.

"What good is my Thu'um in a room full of politicians compared to the bandits that raid villages in my Country!" he would often say to say to her in anger, not at her but towards his current role in the world. Keeping the peace was taking its toll on him. He didn't want war, inevitable as it was, but he was a fighter, he was literally made to fight, being stuck in political matters was driving him insane, no matter how good he hid it, she could see it weighing on her friend.

But that was an issue she would have to face when he got back in a month or two. His trip abroad wasn't really a diplomatic venture, he was just familiarizing himself with the bordering High Rock, Hammerfell, Cyrodiil and Morrowind. Hopefully it will be more leisurable then straining, or at least that's what she and the other Housecarls hoped when they suggested it to him.

She stopped that trail of thought and brought her mind back to the issue at hand. She sighed hard, hunched over the table in her seat, eyes held tight shut, with her fingers rubbing her temples and elbows on the desk.

Vampires. As if her job wasn't hard enough, what with watching the Silver-bloods and Black-Briars for anything untoward from the two families, tracking the Dark Brotherhood after their attempt to take the Emperor's life and the Thieves Guild for their increased interference with their trade routes. She was also getting reports from Calder that the unrest in Windhelm was increasing. The Forsworn were being even of a constant peril despite or rather because of, their King, Madanach's death, so says Argis. And, the Thalmor were monitoring them, probably more so then they were monitoring the Thalmor, what with the mystery of her Lord's actions.

But now Vampires. As if the great Dragon threat wasn't enough. They got rid of one blight on the land and the Gods in their wisdom have chosen to send these fanged menaces on to them and Lydia didn't have the man-power to spare.

Her one blessing were reports that a group dedicated to fighting the Vampires were forming and recruiting, 'The Dawnguard' they called themselves, a nice name. She wouldn't have to send bands of their men to face the threat at least, but Cayran wouldn't have it if she left the problem to an unknown element. She would have to send one of their Free Rangers.

She was out of the question course, so too were the other Housecarls. And, Jenessa and Anise were with Rayya tracking the Dark Brotherhood. Erik, Ghorbash and Uthgerd where looking into the Forsworn. And, Iona, and Mjoll were monitoring the Thieves Guild in Riften.

Lydia bought her head from her hands and looked at the spot on the map, Riften. The supposed Head Quarters of the Dawnguard was directly east of the city in the mountains. And, with that, a thought stuck her memory. She brought he finger down the list of rangers until she came upon, him.

Granted he was new and he was young and she didn't fully trust him, despite Valdimar and Ansie supporting him. But it wasn't her choice in the end. Cayran saw potential in him despite their first meeting. She supposed it was time to give him a leading role in a something big, she wished it wasn't as big as this or at least that he wasn't going alone, but he was the only one available in the area.

She tapped his name on the list before quickly writing a message for him detailing his task. She would send a bird in the morning.

With that Lydia lay back into the high back padded chair and looked up to nothing in particular. She closed her eyes and sighed a long sigh that turned into a yawn.

'That's enough for today', she thought before bringing her eyes down to the door. In the dimness of the room she could see no light coming from the gap under the door. The servants had blown out the lamps and candles in the hallways and it was then she realized that it was very unlikely that it was even the same day that she started looking at the reports, and there most definitely wasn't much night left for sleep.

But by the Nine, she was the Steward and she would sleep, and if anyone thought she should do otherwise, well the stables always needed more volunteers to shovel manure and she would be happy to send anyone foolish enough.

With that she took hold of the base of the candlestick and made for the door.

Before the light left the room the message could still be read and it read,

"Brydan Far-Falcon…"


End file.
